The Woman In Red
by Jack Lantern
Summary: Gil Galad was an elven king, of whom the harpers don't sing enough. Gil Galad was a unique elf in many ways. He also had a unique love story. No Slash, but very original storyline. Most of you won't like it. R
1. The Whore

**Disclaimer: I own none of the Lord of the Rings Material. I know that elves are physically incapable of being prostitutes, but go with me on this because I think it makes the story work.**

_**Chapter One**_

Gil-Galad led the charge from horseback, his legs keeping his seat, while he loaded a fine arrow into his bow. Behind him, Elrond and Elros leaped over barriers and fallen trees with the skill that only comes with long practice. Their faces were alight and glowing as they galloped after their foster-father and guardian. Before them, a buck, a massive creature with a chandelier of great antlers flew over the ground with graceful bounds. As Gil-Galad released the shaft from his bow, the animal swerved to the right and disappeared into a heavy thicket while the arrow buried itself deep in the bark of an elm.

"Elrond! Elros, go around the sides and corner him as he comes through! I see a way clear through the thicket, but there's only room enough for one rider," Gil-Galad called out to the young men as they reached him.

"Right then," Elros reined his mount hard to the left and Elrond served right, their horses heaving and panting with the thrill of the ride. Backing Rana, his horse, up a few yards, Gil-Galad charged ahead and they flew over the thorny barrier in a graceful arch. Thundering to the ground a moment later, they continued after the stag in the tight confines of the thicket hedge.

Keeping a tight, but quick hand on the reins, Gil-Galad forced the stag nearer and nearer toward the edge where he knew the twins would be waiting with their bows. The High king had promised a fine feast for the household that midsummer's eve and he was going to deliver like he always did. Thorns scratching his exposed face and throat, Gil- Galad ready his horse for the last jump that would carry him and the stag though the thorns and into the open clearing beyond.

The stag sprang into the air just as two arrows flew out of their bows, in perfect unison. The stag shivered and collapsed to the ground, skidding a few feet as Gil-Galad vaulted over the hedge row of thorns. What none of them saw was the hollow that Ran had the bad fortune to land in, stumbling and sending the High King over her head and to the ground with a sickening thud.

**GGGGGGGGG**

Gil-Galad swam toward consciousness, becoming aware of a blinding pain in his skull and shoulders. When he tried to open his eyes he couldn't. A heavy gauze bandage was wrapped over them, keeping out all light but what little crept in on either side of his nose. A damp area on the bandage was enough to convince the High King that he had been wounded badly by his fall.

"Is anyone there?" he called realizing the smells of the room and bed he was lying in were wholly unfamiliar.

No answer came, only the snap of a fire somewhere to his right. Feeling with his hands, Gil-Galad found he was lying on a narrow bed pushed up against an earthen wall. Careful of his pounding head, he pulled himself upright , swinging his long legs over the edge of the cot. With his bare feet—where had he lost his boots?--feeling the hard packed dirt floor, Gil-Galad began to remember what had happened. The hunt, the twins and the stag. He vaguely remembered hitting the ground but the memory only intensified the throbbing in his head.

The sound of the door opening and a waft of fresh summer breeze pulled his sightless eyes to the left where he felt the person standing. A faint hint of perfume and the rustles of skirts alerted him that it was a woman.

"How are you feeling?" she asked, coming into the room.

"Well enough," he answered slowly, "Where am I?"

"You're in my house in Lindon Wood, waiting for your sons to return for you," the voice replied moving to where the fire spat and hissed, "would you like something to drink?"

Yes, thank you," he said, pain lancing across his forehead. He accepted the wooden cup that she pressed into his hands. He had the impression of coll, slender fingers, but they vanished and she began to adjust the bandage he wore.

"What happened?" he asked, after the first mouthful made its icy way down his hot throat.

"Took quite a spill from your horse while hunting. You split a pretty severe crack in your head," was the calm answer.

"And the horse?"

"I'm afraid I don't know," she replied gently, "Your boys were afraid to move you far and so brought you here. One of them helped me bind you up and then they both went for help."

"What is you name madam? I wish to thank you," Gil-Galad asked.

"Istimiel, Your Highness. More water?"

"Yes, please. You already know me then?"

She laughed a little, "Oh yes, this told me even before the ellyn could." her hand touched the crest that embroidered his chest, "How does your head feel?"

Gil-Galad pressed the heel of his palms against his temples, "Splitting."

"I could give you something to relieve the pain," Istimiel offered, " That is, if you trust me enough. My guess is that a king has to be over careful of what he accepts from people."

"He does," Gil-Galad admitted, "But i don't think you would. You could have already killed me several times over while I lay unconscious. Or you could have poisoned the water. Come, let me try you remedy."

Again she gave a little laugh and there was the rustle of her skirt as she moved about the cabin. Her perfume drifted over to him and he leaned back against the wall as he waited. It was clear from the sound of their voices that it was a small cabin. Istimiel was probably one of many elves who choose to live alone. They were scattered all over Lindon and the surrounding areas. Whenever great danger threatened the loners would move into Lindon's protecting walls. Even then they were quiet and bashful.

But Istimiel's easy manner didn't seem to indicate the shy and exclusive attitude these elves usually showed. Gil-Galad decided that if she was kind and willing enough to aid him and the boys, her personality had little to do with where she lived. His sons, she had called them. This caused a new thought to come to his mind.

"Are you married madam? Do you have children of your own?" he asked.

The sounds of her activity paused for a moment, "No, I am not married. I live here quite alone. I like the solitude the wood offers." she replied, her voice guarded and ready to deflect any further questions.

"I see. I'm sorry if I offended you ma'am, I was not trying to pry."

"No." a smile eased her tone, "No. I'm sure you weren't. Forgive my sharpness, Your Majesty. I simply value my privacy."

"As do I," Gil-Galad agreed, "What little I have of it. Did you say the ellyn would return soon?"

Yes, they should be here before another hour passes. We're an hour away from Lindon castle and you were sleeping for most of the time they have been gone," there came the cool hand again as she steadied the cup he held, filling it again, "Drink this, it should ease the pain a little."

Gil-Galad drank the liquid, his tongue recoiling from the bitter flavor of feverfew, but he downed it none-the-less. Istimiel took the cup with an approving sound. He caught a tiny glimpse of scarlet as she walked away.

As he leaned back against the pillows, waiting for the herb to take effect, Gil-Galad thought about the red petticoat he had just chanced to see. It bothered him because it reminded him of something, a faction of people who wore it. People who lived and worked in human villages. Then he knew. Opening his mouth he said, "You're a prostitute."

A heavy silence followed this pronouncement. All sounds of movement ceased and Istimiel's quick and angry breathing began the only sound in the cabin. Just as Gil-Galad was fearing he had made a terrible mistake, she spoke.

"I am. But even a prostitute can show loyalty to her king without asking payment."

He sat upright again, "Are you not an elleth?"

"Yes, of course. Does that make a difference?" she challenged, her voice changing as she turned to face him, "Are you afraid I'll charge for allowing you to sleep in my bed this afternoon?"

" Be careful what you say," he said sternly, "Hurt I may be, but you will address me properly. I merely asked if you were not an elleth."

Her voice was a trifle more controlled when she answered, "You have your answer, Your Majesty."

Minutes went by, a breeze stirring the curtains at the window and brushing against the king's bare feet.

"May I have my boots please?' he asked quietly.

She opened the door and brought them in, setting them beside him. When she moved to withdraw he deftly caught her wrist as it brushed his arm, holding firmly but without bruising the skin.

"Why?" he asked her sincerely.

"Why what?" she pretended.

"Why do you live such a life?" Gil-Galad asked her, his voice low and gentle as if with a small child, "Why do you use yourself so ill?"

She swallowed, "We all do what we must to live, Your highness," her breath was warm against his cheek, "Or perhaps I am merely a wanton who delights to live in ruin and disgrace."

"You need not live so," he said, "There are other ways you may earn your bread without disgracing yourself. I cannot think that you are without other talents."

She laughed bitterly, harshly as she pulled away. He did not try to keep her still.

"Does it wound you that an elleth should lead such a life?"

"Yes. It breaks my to think that any woman, Eldar or Edain must win her living so under my rule. Is life so unfair to you that you have no other recourse?" his voice was rough and sincere and Istimiel turned away.

"You will forgive me if I do not answer your questions, Your Majesty." Istimiel replied coolly, "I will care for you and aid you as any loyal subject, for loyal I am. But I must beg to keep my privacy as to my personal life."

"I am sorry," he answered.

"Never mind," barely audible.

They did not speak again. There was nothing left to say. Gil-Galad pulled his boots on and waited for the tell-tale sound of hooves to herald the arrival of the twins. The pain in his head had lessened, but lingered stubbornly behind his eyes. Istimiel said nothing but went about her duties as if she had forgotten he was there. The High King was sick at heart for wounding her. It made him angry and frustrated that there were such goings-on in his kingdom. He tried to keep purity and equity in all his dealings with his subjects, yet here was this woman, living this life. Still, Istimiel had made it quite clear that she wasn't going to talk about it.

Fifteen minutes later the twins arrived with the royal healer and a carriage to transport Gil-Galad back to the city. When the two princes came into the cabin the tension was so great they could almost reach out and touch it. But, with their royal training, they merely spoke to the elleth kindly and helped their foster-father. They had known what Istimiel was when they had left Gil-Galad with her, but they also knew that they needed her help and chose not to judge her. Now it looked as if Gil-Galad had discovered it and there had been some unpleasantness on both sides.

While Elros helped Gil-Galad to the carriage, Elrond thanked Istimiel and offered her a small hide bag of silver for her pains.

Pushing it back into his hands, she shook her head, "I really cannot take this, Prince," she said, "please, it was enough to aid the king."

"I hope that--," Elrond bite his lip, a very human gesture, "I hope that you understand my king. He loves his people. All of them."

Istimiel offered a weak smile, "I know he does. Some of us, however, lead lives that are hard for even the victorious king to admire. Good day, Prince."

They bowed and went out to where the royal entourage waited. Elrond mounted his horse and bowed again to the woman. Her eyes went to the carriage where Gil-Galad was sitting, his bandages head between his hands again. As if sensing her glance he turned toward her and even though his eyes were covered, she looked away. With a call, they began to move and before long were lost to her sight between the trees. And Istimiel watched them go, her lovely face blank and empty.

**Reveiws? Looking for a Beta.**


	2. The Agony of If

**Disclaimer: I own none of the Lord of the Rings Material. I know that elves are physically incapable of being prostitutes, but go with me on this because I think it makes the story work.**

**Chapter 2**

Elros loped into the castle with a cheery wave to the guards and a wink for a milk maid crossing the courtyard.

"Fine riding this morning," the master of horses asked as he accepted the reins Elros tossed to him.

"Brilliant," Elros agreed pulling his tight riding gloves off as he walked away toward the interior castle, "Make sure that my horse is well fed and rubbing down. After the ride I put him through he deserves it."

"Aye sir," the man called back.

Elros swung his way around the corridor and up the steps to the offices where he knew the king would be receiving court that day. The guards nodded to him as he passed and the master of ceremonies bowed before turning to the assembly and announcing.

"My Lord Prince Elros!"

Gil-Galad looked up as Elros bowed. Obviously deep in conversation, the king merely nodded and waved him forward.

The company turned and bowed briefly but Elros could see that some topic of moment was being discussed by the way they hurried back to arguing. Not caring much for fawning officials, Elros went to find his brother instead. Elrond was listening and writing at the same time in a corner just off from the throne. This little shadowed place was where Elrond was sure to be found during a discussion of government politics. He liked to be unseen the majority of the time; if he had something to say he would find his way forward being sure to have the king's ear and that of the council. But now he was merely taking notes and watching his sharp grey eyes flickering from lord to lord as the debate went on.

Elros took a seat beside him and whispered, "What news?"

"Nothing of great important," Elrond answered without looking up, "Some debate about lands being drained and used for farming."

"Sounds riveting," Elros yawned, "Why does everyone seem so upset about it?"

"Because the land would be given to a faction of humans that are in sore need of farming space. His majesty wishes to gift the land to the humans because they are very poor, but the council thinks they should at least be sworn to give part of the corps for payment when the harvest comes in."

"The people do need to eat here," Elros observed.  
"They don't need that much food," Elrond replied his pen skimming over the scroll leaving behind a neat and precise hand; "I think the land should be given to the humans. After all, they wouldn't live long enough to cause much trouble."

"But they do reproduced dashed fast," Elros pointed out, "The families will want to hold onto the land for the generations. I think that they should be given some manner of paying the king so that they can be established legally."

Elrond looked at his brother out of the corner of his eyes, "What are you hinting at?"

"I hint at nothing," Elros replied, "Unlike you I am not a master of subtly."

"But you know something," Elrond paid his pen down, "What?"

"Nothing that my lord the king and his advisors might not hear," Elros stood and walked around the throne.

Gil-Galad was listening to the arguments of a small dark elf who was pointing out the helplessness of humanity and their need to be protected by the elves. Elros listened but stepped forward enough for Gil-Galad to catch his eye.

"You see, Your Majesty, the humans want to be taken care of. They need not own the land they farm, if they know it will be under Your Majesty's supervision."

"I see," Gil-Galad mused his eyes drifting to his ward, "what does my Lord Prince say to that?"

"I say—with all due respect to my Lord Suiauthon, that it would not be wise to allow the humans access to these lands without some kind of contract or payment existing between us and them."

A gasp escaped several mouths and Lord Suiauthon looked keenly at the prince, "what reasoning does my lord prince use to arrive at such a conclusion?"

"The reasoning that humans have as much or more pride as we in the land they live on." Elros rested a foot on a step of the throne, "If we treat them as children they will resent us sooner than thank us for aid."

"Explain," Gil-Galad directed.

"My lord king," Elros warmed to his topic, "This every day I have ridden out to speak with the human faction that we seek to aid. I wished to know their minds. What I found surprised me. They do not wish to be treated as incompetent or childlike. They are strong minded men and women, proud of their roots and their heritage. If we were to give them this land it would wound their pride and degrade themselves in their own eyes."

"But they are starving," Gil-Galad said, "Their children will die if they cannot establish themselves soon."

"Which is the reason they must accept our offer," Lord Suiauthon stressed, his small hands clutching his robes tightly, "For the sake of their posterity if nothing else. Or are you suggesting that they will refuse on the principal of pride?"

"They would not," Elros glared at the little man, "But by doing so they would lose heart. They would fade into nothing more than serfs. All they ask, and I cannot help but agree with them, is that they be given the respect and trust that they will repay my lord and they are able and ready to do so."

"If we would allow this?" Gil-Galad was toying with the court, "What do they propose to do?"

"To provide a fourth of their corps to the use of the castle and the city people every harvest. They would welcome the king and whatever ministers he should send to see their progress. They ask for the right to be taken seriously by your majesty as subjects and people; as any elf would be."

"You care for these people a great deal, my lord prince," Gil-Galad observed thoughtfully, "Are you sure you can be impartial?"

"I do not know I can, your majesty," Elros answered unashamedly, "As a peredhel I cannot deny my human side' it speaks out every strongly on behalf of the humans. They are my people as much as my lords here."

Another ripple of gasps came from the assembled company one coming from Elrond behind the throne. Elros saw him standing as if he had started to his feet at Elros proclamation. Gil-Galad searched Elros' eyes for a long moment. He saw a determination and fearlessness in the prince's face, a gleam of bravery that was absent in many of the elves of the court.

"Then I think you should not deny it," Gil-Galad announced, "Prince Elros you are hereby made ambassador to the humans. You will be our envoy among mankind and will speak to them for us. If your birth gives you a better understanding of humans than we welcome it with open arms; it is our desire to treat all under our rule with respect."

Gil-Galad addressed the assembly, "I think, my lords, we have moved to discuss the possibility of the humans purchasing the land directly from us. We would ask that you begin to consider plans for payment. I think the humans might be too generous in paying a fourth of their crops every harvest, but we are assured that you will find an amicable compromise."

A murmur ran through the counselors as Gil-Galad stood motioning the twins to his side, "We will convene again tomorrow this time." He announced and swept from the room.

The crowd parted as the king and his entourage went into the inner antechambers. Gil-Galad was either ignoring or not noticing the stunned glances of some of the assembly. Gil-Galad was as always, not intimidated by the ministers of his court. He might have been raised as an orphan but he was never less of a king because of it.

The doors closed behind them leaving them in Gil-Galad's private rooms. A groom stepped forward and removed the heavy outer robe the king always wore to court. Under it, Gil-Galad was dressed simply but richly in dark velvet, a chain of office draped from shoulder to shoulder; he retained the light weight crown of gold.

Removing his rings, Gil-Galad glanced at his wards, "An interesting day in court?"

"Yes, indeed," Elrond agreed casting his brother a baldly curious look, "Full of surprises."

Elros said nothing but looked ready to defend his position. Gil-Galad raised a brow and asked, "You have been planning this for some time I think?"

"I have," Elros admitted, "Since I heard of the proposal. Perhaps it was presumptuous of me to go around your authority but everything that is human in me felt that there was something missing from the proceedings."

"And that being a human perspective," Gil-Galad guessed.

"You're not human, Elros," Elrond said sharply, "I fail to see how you could offer that opinion."

"Which is why," Elros turned to his brother. Elrond was clearly upset, "I did not consult you. I went right to the faction and spoke to their leaders. I have more of an understanding of humanity by birth but I am not foolish enough not to know I can't truly understand it. Whenever I try to realize any of my humanity you seem to think it's time to remain me that I am the younger twin."

"You seem too eager to deny your elvish heritage and too willing to risk everything by bringing out your mortal side," Elrond nearly shouted.

"That's enough," Gil-Galad barked. The twins turned to look at him, "I will not have two of my counselors arguing like children in my presence. Elros, you should have accorded your brother and I more respect than to assume that we would stop you from investigating the truth of the matter. I have never been adverse honesty and I don't think that Elrond has ever given you reason to believe he is either."

"A man might have secrets without being afraid of truth," Elros said bitterly, "My brother is too anxious about my choice of humanity over immortality to see clearly that my life is my own."

"That is enough," Gil-Galad checked Elrond before he could reply, "If you wish to break each other's heads over this matter than do it when you are not in company. Elrond, we have work to finish. Elros, I want you to outline a plan for dealing with the humans in future. I suggest we all get to work and channel our energies there."

"Very well," Elrond agreed.

The trio moved into the private study and each went to their own desk. If seemed impossible to carry on an argument in the cool dim quiet of the study. Gil-Galad sank into his chair and rubbed his brow tiredly. Elrond, always watchful noticed.

"Does your head still ache, my lord?"

"It is nothing," Gil-Galad waved his concern away, "I am becoming used to it by now."

"I think I should not have left you alone that day," Elrond said, "The elleth might have done something unintentionally to harm you. It could have worsened the injury."

"I am fairly sure that is not the case," Gil-Galad assured him, "I think that she was very careful."

"No one wants to accidentally kill the king," Elros said from his desk by the window, "I daresay she did everything fine."

"But she was not a healer," Elrond stressed his annoyance with his brother still near the surface, "I should have remained."

"It is immaterial now," Gil-Galad seemed in a hurry to dismiss the subject, "We have other work to do."

"Yes my lord," the twins replied in unison. A look passed between them and Elros couldn't suppress a grin as they attended to their work. Gil-Galad just thought he saw a smile trace itself across Elrond's face, but the young prince tried to hide it.

Gil-Galad turned his attention to his own work, the many maps and papers that littered his desk begging for notice. But his hand strayed to the one that marked out the borders and lands of Lindon Wood. It was an old map, one that was never used for matters of state. Routes were marked on with a red pencil, hunting routes and walking trails—hunting routes. Gil-Galad's finger traced along the last most recent hunting trail that took them through the section of forest closest to the castle lands. Somewhere along the way he had fallen, and somewhere along the way the elleth lived.

He drummed his fingers on the desktop; if bothered him. Like the consistent headaches, the reminder that she lived the life of a prostitute pained him. He had not even bothered to learn her name. He had allowed her occupation to cloud his own common curtsey.

"Elrond," he beckoned.

Elrond came to his side, "Yes?"

"What was done for the elleth who watched over me when I was hurt?" Gil-Galad asked quietly.

"I offered her payment in the usual way but she refused it," Elrond answered, "She was—insulted I think."

"I see," Gil-Galad drummed his fingers again, "Thank you, Elrond."

"Would you like me to send something else?"

"No, thank you," Gil-Galad did not look up, "I think we must leave her to herself if that is what she wants."

"Very well."

"Elrond?"

"Sire?"

"Did we know her name?"

Elrond looked nonplussed, "I don't think so my lord."

"I didn't think so either," Gil-Galad mused crossly, "Don't let us forget again."

"No sire." Elrond looked at Gil-Galad's down turned head for a moment and then away.

_**GGGGGGGGG**_

She should have taken the money. If she had taken the money then she would have been able to support herself better. Istimiel stared out at the wood from her doorstep. She hadn't left the cabin since the king and his wards had departed weeks ago. Something in her kept her back from the city; she could not go into the city when she knew that somewhere high above her the king was living. Living and disapproving of her.

Curse him, what did she care of his opinion? If she chose to go whoring with every man in Lindon it was her business and no one else's. And what did the king really care for her? He had forgotten her by now anyway. Istimiel stood and shook out her skirts, the red petticoat rustling drawing her eyes to them. She had decided long ago that they had betrayed her to the king. She thought of his face when they had brought him in. Unconsciousness did nothing to soften the hard lines of his jaw and cheekbones, the long, straight nose and broad intelligent forehead. His ebony hair had been soaked with blood that gushed frighteningly from his wound.

She remembered watching over him as he slept, the long body relaxed in an unnatural rest, the chest rising and falling softly with breath. He was a man as other men she had known, but even in sleep there hovered a sense of nobility. She traced the pattern of his crest lightly with her fingers and snatched her own hand away in shame. What was she doing? What if he caught her doing that?

In the present, Istimiel covered her face with her hands and tried to think of things other than the King and her life. The cupboards were growing emptier since she had not gone out for work and they would soon be bare. The silver would have kept her for quite some time. She sighed again. She had to make a living somehow.

_**AN: Thanks for the reviews. I have taken them all into consideration. A few more never hurt anyone.**_


	3. Deny Thyself

_**AN: **__Thanks for the reviews everyone. I don't mind people saying what they think of the story. I have thick skin and I can take it. However, I would like to thank those who stood up for me__** (**__**Elflingimp**__**, **__**Caethieu**__**, West Trekker, and gilraenvardamir)**__ and for __defending my story and my right to take a chance with a storyline that has never been done— perhaps, for good reason. But I am thankful that I have the chance to write this and have people read it. Enjoy!_

**Chapter Three**

"Get out of my shop, whore," the man said dragging Istimiel from the small store by a meaty hand on her arm. Once outside he flung her away and she stumbled, landing in a heap on the ground, "we don't need the likes of you looking for customers here. This is a respectable trading store and I won't have the reputation sullied because you come trying to ply your trade."

He spat on the dust in front of her and retreated into the dark interior of his shop. The people around Istimiel had frozen in place when she had been hurled into the street. After watching her public disgrace, they began to move, whispering and pointing, jostling around her with suspicious glances. She pushed back her hair that had worked loose and tucked it behind her ear, trying to regain some of the dignity she had just lost. She would not allow one foolish human's rejection to cow her. There were plenty of others who would wish to hire her; elves rarely worked outside their own people's holdings. She would find a place.

"Whore," a woman spat as she walked by.

"Dwarf," Istimiel shouted after her pulling herself up swiftly and dusting herself off. Istimiel arranged her clothing into some semblance of order and moved on.

The streets were choked with people today but that was nothing new. A growing city like Lindon was expected to have an overflowing population of all kinds of people. Good, noble, poor, and bad, she thought ruefully. Istimiel shook her head and took another street. She had to find employment within the next few days or she would use the rest of her savings, a meager amount and one that could not sustain her long. As if to remind her of her growing desperation, Istimiel's stomach growled loudly.

Pressing a hand against the offering organ, Istimiel shoved her way through the crowd until she reached the nearest fountain. Several tin cups were reposing on hooks around the top of the fountain but Istimiel cupped her hand instead and brought the cold water to her lips instead. The water gurgled in her empty stomach but she knew she would have to wait longer for her single meal of the day. If she ate now she would never be able to sleep during the night. Taking another mouthful of water, Istimiel fought back the urge to cry. She was a grown woman after all.

"Right move along now, missy," a gruff voice said.

The elf turned and saw one of the guards from the nearby law office watching her from under the brim of his iron helmet. He was only one of a pair that guarded the house of law. It was their duty 

to keep the outraged and indignity from rushing inside and throttling the lawyers. Apparently it was also they duty to keep folks from simple freedoms as well.

"Get going now, we don't have time for the likes of you muddying the fountains," he said raising his spear slightly as if he would shove her away. Istimiel backed away instantly.

"I'm going, there's no need to push," she said.

"Just get along. This neighborhood is for decent folk."

Istimiel suddenly dazzled him with a brilliant smile. She felt his defenses drop at the sight and knew that she could lay hand on him now if she darned. But instead, Istimiel turned around and walked away, staying the sash-ay of her hips that came naturally after so many years. No one spoke to her or looked at her strangely here, but Istimiel knew that one charmed guard was not enough to allow her the right to rest in this public place. She was doomed for a long day of walking the streets and being told to move along again and again. It did not matter that she was looking for honest work, Istimiel had marked herself for good. The only quarter of the city she would be welcomed was the dark and smoky dens of the human taverns; the whorehouses.

"Excuse me," a hand on her elbow stopped her. Istimiel sighed, preparing to turn and do battle with yet another annoyed human being. Instead, she found herself face to face with a prince.

As she quick eyes took in the face of the half-elf before her, Istimiel's mind struggled to place the features. Which twin was this? The healer or the politician? His gray eyes showed recognition and his mouth was tight and tense, his fingers hard enough to hold her in place and yet gentle enough not to bruise her skin.

"My Lord Prince," she curtseyed swiftly, her eyes dropping to the ground as she lowered herself.

"No look, don't do that," he said pulling her to her feet again, "I'm not the prince today. I'm just another elf. Please, I'm trying not to draw attention to myself."

Istimiel shuddered a bit and drew away, "I'm not—please, prince," she added in a lower tone, "Let me by, I am not welcome here. If anyone should know you than—" she stood apart from him completely and adopted a scornful expression, "I'll not taint the likes of you—half-elf."

The expression on the prince's face was shocked. His dark skin paled around his mouth and he said in a furious undertone, "How dare you. I was not trying to engage your services, Madam; I was trying to speak to you as any other person. However, since you obviously have no desire to even speak to me, I will leave you to yourself."

He turned on his heel and marched in the opposite direction. Istimiel hesitated for a moment but no one had noticed their conversation. She hurried after him; she had to make amends now if she could be forcibly ejected from the city and thus from any chance of livelihood. For a half-elf he moved fast and she was forced to break into a run to catch up to him. As she did, he stopped dead in the street and she smacked into his shoulder sharply.

"Ow," her hand flew to her nose as blood became flowing out.

The prince uttered something between a snort and a growl and taking her by the shoulder moved her to the side street and out of the path of the crowd. Istimiel found a fine linen clothe pressed into her hand.

"Here," he said gruffly, "Tilt your head back and the flow will lessen."

Istimiel took it and did as he told her, "Prince Elrond?"

"I told you I am not a prince today," he said in an angry whisper, "And no, I am not Elrond."

"I am sorry," she tried to say.

"Don't talk," he cut her off, "I doubt you have anything to say beyond the platitudes that I don't want to hear."

He fell silent but stayed where he was. He seemed concerned despite his anger and Istimiel was grateful. She might yet have one more chance to persuade him in her favor. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw that he was young for an elf, but old for a human. While his features were dominated by his elvish heritage there was a cragginess to his jaw and brow that was obviously human. His gray eyes, the finest feature in his face, were restless and moved back and forth over the crowd but not apparently from watchfulness as much as a desire to see everything. He caught her eye and she looked away.

"I am sorry you hurt yourself," he said at last, "I didn't mean for that to happen. I only wanted to talk to you for a moment."

Istimiel waited.

"I saw you in the streets and –I saw how people were treating you. It wasn't right."

"People treat me that way most of the time, Elros," she said feeling bold to use his given name. He was un-phased by it.

"That doesn't make it right." He answered. He looked at her, "I'm not a healer like my brother but I can see when someone is ill. You look terrible."

A wagon passed in the street and stalled the conversation. Elros moved a mite closer and said, "You haven't done well since I saw you last have you?"

Istimiel's heart thumped in her breast. She wanted to say yes; she wanted to tell him how the King's words had torn her confidence and left her feeling broken. She wanted to tell him her purse was empty but for three small coins. She wanted to tell him she was slowly starving. And she wanted to tell Elros that if it hadn't been for him and his noble king she would be making a good living. She wanted to tell him—but she would rather die.

"I do well enough," she lied.

"I see," he looked away as if embarrassed for her.

She took the handkerchief away from her nose and saw the blood had stopped. She balled the materiel in her fist and said, "Thank you. I'd give this back but—"

"No need," he said quickly touching her hand lightly, "Pardon me for bothering you."

"I pray you, don't apologize," Istimiel said faintly, "You were only being kind. It is no risk for you to speak to me."

Elros' brow darkened and he said, "You needn't feel concern for my reputation, madam. I am a prince of the Noldor."

He bowed curtly and though swept away with the current of inhabitants, his cloak billowing around like a dark cloud. Istimiel waited only a moment and darted after him, shoving the soiled handkerchief into her skirt pocket. Knowing the prince's wish not to be revealed as more than a noble, she dragged her cloak over her clothing to hide the dress of her trade. As she reached him once more, he stopped and rounded on her with a question already in his eyes.

"I am sorry to stop you again, my lord," she whispered, "I only—if you could tell me just—how is?"

The Prince amazed her by taking her hands and smiling, "My dear lady, I was wondering if you would ask. He is as well as can be expected. You are in no danger of being arrested for negligent care or attempted murder. I daresay if there was a thought of it my brother and I would have killed you already."

"I can take some comfort in that I suppose," she replied withdrawing her hands gently, "Goodbye sir. Thank you for your kindness."

"You are most welcome," he said inclining his head. Then a flicker of amusement flashed over his face and he whispered, "Even for a Peredhel?"

"Eru forgive me for having said those words," she answered and bowing slipped into the throng.

_**G G G G G G G G G G**_

"Sire, may I speak freely?" Elrond asked.

Gil-Galad looked up from the swarm of papers littering his desk. He held a magnifying glass in one hand and a map in the other. His eyes were red rimmed and bleary after a sleepless night. Lines around his eyes alerted the young prince to the headaches that were a constant now. The few medicines that eased the pain also caused drowsiness or lethargy and Gil-Galad refused their use from often than not.

"Of course, Elrond, go ahead," he laid done the map, spinning the handle of the glass slowly in his hand as he listened.

"Sire, you are not well. You are working too hard and sleeping too little. Because of your accident it is imperative that you take as much rest as possible. I think it is important that you seek the aid of the royal physician for a further cure and that you allow Elros and me to take over some of your responsibilities for the time being. This would insure you time for treatment and recuperation. Now I know you dislike the idea of resting," Elrond hurried to say, "But my King you must consider your condition for the good of the people."

Elrond squared his shoulder and his chin rose a fraction, "My brother and I have been under the tutelage of some of the greatest minds of this age and I think we can be trusted to care for Lindon and the kingdom until you are well. If you would but give us the opportunity to serve you, I know you would not find us wanting in ability."

Gil-Galad stood and went to stand beside Elrond. The Peredhel was only a few inches shorter than the king and had begun to fill out his frame. The High King took his foster-son by the shoulders and said, "My dear Elrond what would I do if I did not have you to worry over me?"

"Kill yourself before you are five thousand?" Elrond answered seriously, "Truly, sire, you must rest."

Gil-Galad patted Elrond's shoulder moving away toward the window. He pulled the cords that drew the curtains back revealing a stunning vista of the city below. He winced at the bright light but leaned his fists on the wide sill and spoke without turning.

"Do you know how old I was when I became High King of the Noldor, Elrond?"

"You were thirty-five, sire," Elrond replied instantly, "You were living with Lord Cirdan at the Havens."

"I loved the Havens," Gil-Galad said his voice reminiscent, "I loved the smell of the ocean and the wash of the waves over the sand and out to sea again and again. It was constant, faith; it never changed. I loved, love Cirdan like a father. I could never have asked for a better parent than Cirdan was to me. I have often thought about what it was about him that made me love him so much. The first was that he was as constant as the North Star, never wavering or changing and the other was that he never lied to me. When my uncle was killed Cirdan came to me and told me I had to be the High King. He knew, as he always does, that I feared the post. He knew I did not wish to be king."

"My lord," Elrond began.

"Nay, Elrond, let me finish," Gil-Galad said sharply. He dropped his imperious tone almost instantly, "You see how easy rule comes to me now. How simple it is for me to command and be obeyed. It was not always so simple or so easy."

Gil-Galad twisted around until he faced his foster-son. He had never told anyone this, none save Cirdan. Not even Gil-Galad's closest friends were privy to his thoughts, "I became stern and flinty as the years went by. I taught myself to see the worst in people first, to expect the lies and the flattery and to find the truth, if there was any, in the speeches of my advisers and colleagues. You see, Elrond, I was taught to suspect everyone."

"I have never thought of you as suspicious, my lord. Every ruler must be cautious."

Gil-Galad gave a wan smile, "You are good to say so. One likes to think one is good at hiding their faults. But Elrond, understand that these years of judging and distrusting people have made me—reluctant to relinquish my hold over them."

"But your health,"

Gil-Galad shook his head, "Is not so important. So my head aches, common men live with worse every day. So shall I. And I will not rest the sleep of the drugged. It disrupts the mind and causes unquiet dreams." His voice dropped.

Elrond shifted his feet in a nervous gesture uncommon in him, "I still hold to my position, Sire. If your health continues to decline than I shall purse it further; at least until you will rest."

Gil-Galad stared hard at his ward tempted to lose his temper with the stubborn Peredhel but something of his natural patience won out and he nodded instead, "But I shall have no time for resting in the months to come. I expect visitors of great renown and power. When they come I shall not have time to worry you or anyone else about my head as everyone will wish to know the state of my heart."

Elrond's ears pricked up, "Your heart my lord?"

"Indeed," Gil-Galad went back to his desk and retrieved a letter from under a heap of correspondence, "This letter came through my private communications last months. I have answered it and received a reply only yesterday. Read and see what you think." He tossed the letter lightly into Elrond's hands.

"The paper is very fine, almost transparent and yet I cannot read anything written inside," Elrond murmured as he left the weight of it in his palm, "And the crest—" he looked up, "This is from Celeborn and Galadriel!"

Gil-Galad motioned for him to open it. Elrond did so careful not to break the green wax seal too much. Unfolding the missive, Elrond scanned the lines swiftly, his keen gray eyes taking in everything, his thin lips moving as he silently read.

"Oh," he suddenly exclaimed, "Oh!"

"You see?" Gil-Galad prompted.

"Aye, I do," Elrond looked up from the open letter. He was almost trembling with interest, "The Princess Celebrían is very beautiful is she not?"

"I have reason to think so. Galadriel has always been heralded as the fairest in Arda and Celeborn; I have to say is one of the best looking men I have ever seen."

"I have yet to meet them," Elrond said folding the letter slowly as if he would see the faces of the senders if he looked hard enough, "My parents knew them."

"And their parents before them," Gil-Galad said, "Both of our houses have been long in their acquaintance. I believe they come to see you and your brother as much as they come to see me."

"Even Elros must be curious to see them for all his love the humans," Elrond decided. He went to the window and then to his desk, "Is there anything that needs to be done in order for their arrival to be made smoother? Rooms must be prepared and –and the guard must be increased. I could see to it myself, my lord, if you but give the word."

"Elrond, my dear boy," Gil-Galad chuckled, "All is provided for. As I said I have already communicated with them and all is in readiness. If you were more in the world and less in your books you would have seen this by now. Elros guessed at it a few weeks ago."

"He said nothing to me," Elrond was annoyed.

"I asked him not to," Gil-Galad hastened to say, "Don't blame him."

"If it was at your request then," Elrond gathered an armload of papers into his arms and with a bow strode out of the room.

There was a new energy about the young prince that pleased Gil-Galad to see. Elrond was too much given to solitude and grave company; over the years the King had done what he could to bring laughter and ease into the lives of his wards but he had only succeeded in some measure with Elros. Elrond seemed wedded to his melancholy nature—surely it would take a shock to bring him out of it.

With Elrond safely gone, Gil-Galad relaxed in his chair, resting his aching head on his arms. He would have to be more cautious in future if Elrond was going to threaten a coup every time he had a headache. It wasn't that they grew worse, not at all. It was simply that they were persistent and wearing.

Gil-Galad ran his hand hard down the back of his neck and groaned. He would not allow this to disrupt his ability to function. Perhaps the visit of the Lothlorien dignitaries would be enough to distract him. As Elrond had mentioned with excitement, Celebrían was said to be very beautiful and she was coming here for the sake of discovering whether or not they might find love together. Gil-Galad frowned at the thought; he was too old for love, he thought. Too old and she was too young. Not for the world would he chain a young woman to himself for the sake of state and kingdom. He was forced into that life by birth; he would be damned if he saw another brought into by marriage.

Love was not going to become another learned action for him. Love, when it came, would come as naturally as breathing and he would wait forever it he needed to.

_**G G G G G G G G G**_

It was a dark night.

Istimiel sat in the corner of the smoke filled tavern, her hands wrapped around a mug of hot wine. She had finished her small meal and was trying to make herself feel satisfied on the scanty fare. She had chosen the corner to keep away from any of the men who might have recognized her and perhaps have propositioned her. Under her heavy burgundy cloak, the red petticoat was hidden as was the fitted gown and tempting low neckline that was a tool of her trade. They were suddenly too garish and too exposing.

Even with these concealments, her face was lovely enough to draw the attention of several men. But if she chanced to catch their eye, Istimiel's face hardened into a cold and freezing expression that even an idiot could not find welcome in.

She was suddenly, utterly tired.

Dragging her feet to the tiny room she had taken, Istimiel tried to remind herself that all this suffering was worth it; it was honest. But as she fell onto the narrow little cot, tears pooled in the corners of her eyes, refusing to fall and give her relief. This life, with its empty stomach and difficult existence would be nothing if it were not for the overwhelming sense of being alone. Her lovers had always cared enough to stay the night, wrapping their arms around her body and holding, at the very least, in feigned love.

Pulling her cloak around her, Istimiel tried to block out the sounds of people in the tavern below and think on her course the next day. She must plan ahead if she hoped to do anything to relieve her situation. Tomorrow would take her to the industrial section of Lindon. Surely there among the smiths and tanners, surely there was some occupation that could be had for a few coins. There was the danger of being recognized, but she had plan for that too. If one knew how to make one's self desirable than one could perform the reverse.

She would have to find new clothing and her long, golden waves would be braided into a simple bun if need be. But first she would sell the few baubles of jewelry she carried on her. They were not rich items and meant less, but they would bring in enough for her to present herself as an elf looking for nothing other than honest work.

I am looking for honest work; she told herself fiercely, I am not pretending now.

Of course she wasn't pretending anymore. Starving in the city was just as bad as starving in at her cabin and since she was determined to do neither she had to change her life. At this point, she couldn't afford to pretend anymore.

**Reviews Please**


	4. The Difficulty of Position

**Chapter Four**

"And have you contacted the Smith?" Elros asked.

Gil-Galad nodded, "Of course. He promises to come. Much more we cannot expect."

Elros agreed silently.

"We will need extra guards?" Elrond asked.

Gil-Galad was pained to answer, "He is a Feanorian."

"Yes," Elrond wrote the order.

"Pray Eru he's the last," Gil-galad whispered.

_**G G G G G G G G G**_

Istimiel had wandered the industrial section of the city the entire morning and had found nothing. No one wanted her, not for work anyway. Even clothed in a simple Edain dress of brown cotton, she was too fair to be mistaken. She had pulled her hair tightly back so not one strand could escape in a cunning wave or curl. It didn't seem to help much. The women had taken one look at her and dismissed her while the men look more than one look and asked for something quite different indeed. It was totally useless.

"Watch where you're going," a rough voice said and the next minute, Istimiel was thrown off her feet and onto her bottom. The impact jammed her and she saw stars dance in front of her eyes. She felt as if she had run into a brick wall.

"What the hell made you do that," the voice said again and two massive hands, course and rough grabbed her arms and hauled her to her feet, "I can't be watching everywhere I go."

"I'm sorry," she stammered blinking to clear her eyes, "I didn't see you."

"You may not use that excuse," the speaker, a tall board shoulder ellon told her. As Istimiel's eyes cleared completely she gasped.

"My Lord Celebrimbor, I most humbly beg your pardon," she said and would have dropped to a curtsey if his hands hadn't still been biting into her arms. She found her feet and stood straight, "I am sorry."

He frowned, his face, handsome but smudged with soot and grime was something terrible. There was a brilliant light in the coal colored eyes that made Istimiel shake with fear. The long black hair was pulled away from the face and caused the famous Feanorian features to stand out with frightening clarity. His shoulders were board for an elf and his glance was unforgiving, sharp.

"Do not-" he said bitingly, "_Simper_. It is unbecoming in any maid, least of all an elleth of your age."

He released her and Istimiel had to fight the urge to reach up and rub her sore arms. Instead, she stood under the hard gaze of the Feanorian. He looked her up and down coldly. Crossing his large arms over his chest he said, "You don't belong here."

"I am sorry my lord," Istimiel stammered misunderstanding his meaning, "I will leave at once. If I had known where I was I should never have come this way."

"Stop," he commanded. He did not move a muscle but remained where he was. Istimiel turned back to him fearful. What would this man do?

"I did not give you leave to go," he growled. His eyes narrowed, "As you have trespassed on my property you will do me the courtesy of answering my questions."

"Yes, milord," she answered. She dare not meet him eye to eye, his aspect was too frightening. Instead, she fastened her eyes on his boots. They were beautifully made of stoat black leather with iron caps over the toes. They were plain and without adornment but this seemed to make them richer and not homely at all. His feet were planted strongly, there was something about his stance that let Istimiel know he was a man to be obeyed.

"Who are you?" he demanded.

"Istimiel, my lord," she prayed it was not a familiar name.

"Hmm," he was annoyed; she felt relief flood her, he did not know her name, "Where do you live?"

"Here, my lord, in Lindon."

"And you are just a commoner? A simple laboring elleth?"

Istimiel hesitated, "Yes, my lord."

He pounced on this, "You lie."

He seized one of her hands and brought close to his eyes, "This hand has seen very little manual labor." He brought it down beside his free hand and compared the palms, "This is the hand of a laboring man."

"I am not a smith," she trembled and blurted out, "I beg you lord, let me go. I swear I will not come this way again."

He cursed and released her. Istimiel longed to retreat the way she had come but his presence forbade her that. Instead he turned on his heel and walked back into his forge with a barked, "Follow me then."

For a moment Istimiel was tempted to turn and flee away. Surely he would not follow her in the street? Surely if he did there were enough good people who would stop him if he did. Wouldn't they? Not everyone was afraid of Feanorians. Istimiel waited only that moment and went into the darkness of the forge. The thought of being pursued by the grandson of Feanor was not one that she wanted to risk even in the board daylight.

Once inside heat rushed out to meet her. The forge was long and low ceilinged with multiple forges and bellows on every side. It created an aisle down which she saw Celebrimbor disappearing quickly. He seemed unconcerned by the swinging of hammers and the showers of sparks created by the apprentices that labored on every side. Red hot metal was being worked on in every station and elves, young and old worked the ore into something beautiful. A few glanced up at her when she entered and she earned a few stares but none spoke to her.

Instead they returned to their work as she timidly followed the path the Feanorian had taken. As she walked she held her dress close around her to keep it free of the falling sparks that spat and sizzled through the air. When she reached the end of the fiery walk, Istimiel looked around in confusion; Celebrimbor was nowhere to be seen.

"This way mistress," a young ellon with silver hair directed her. He offered a slight smile and said, "He's in a good mood today."

Trying to feel more confident by this offered reassurance, Istimiel tried to smile, "Thank you," she managed and went to the door at stood open and wide a little apart from the main forge.

Celebrimbor was moving around the room, a board black pencil tucked behind one ear, his fingers deftly turning and spinning a thin sheet of silver. He lifted and sighted along the edge before glancing back at her.

"So—you're looking for work."

"Yes, milord," Istimiel answered looking around the room. It was half office half forge. Thin sheets of paper and metal of various kinds lay about in organized confusion, "How did you know?"

He just looked at her before marking a line with his pencil, "What can you do?"

"I don't understand."

"I mean," he said heavily, "What can you _do_? I amuse you possess the usual talents of the female sex? Sewing, cooking, gossiping that sort of thing?"

"I—yes. Yes, I can," Istimiel was puzzled.

"Yes," he thought aloud, "Go to my house, it is but a street over, I'm sure you know it. Ask for my housekeeper and tell her I sent you. She will give you a place."

He thrust a piece of paper into her hands and went back to his work. Istimiel looked at the scrap and read a short recommendation addressed to the housekeeper. He was going to give her place? A cold feeling rippled down her spine; perhaps he was not giving her the post for nothing. Perhaps this blunt, rude man had other plans for her. She opened her mouth to ask a question but he turned and she snapped her mouth closed.

"Thank you my lord," she blurted and left as quickly as possible.

Istimiel did not stop once she gained the safety of the street. Her feet flew along the road dodging around the people as easily and gracefully as if she were an elfing again and running through the trees of the forest. Her heart was pounding painfully in her chest and her mind whirled. What had just happened? Why was she so afraid?

Forcing herself to a standstill, Istimiel leant again the wall of a fruit stall to catch her breath. Pressing a hand to her heart, she quickly read the note again. It was short, curt and to the point.

_Lancaeriel__,_

_This elleth, Istimiel by name, is to be employed by me. Give her a position suited to her talents._

_C_

Istimiel folded the paper and tucked it into her pocket. He gave her a place. For the first time since bolting from the forge she looked around and saw she was only a few streets away from Celebrimbor's great house. Even from here she could seen the blue tiled roof tops that gleamed in the hot afternoon air. It was not a palace, being too plain to be really beautiful, but it dominated the area and the simple architecture was superb. And she _might_ work there.

Istimiel pushed her fear aside; she was a grown woman and far be it from her to be afraid of honest employment. If she could trust herself to strange man in the most intimate of situations than she could trust the Lord Celebrimbor in as public as place as his great house. Elves could be trusted unlike humans and she would take the chance. Feeling the lone coin in her purse Istimiel smiled ruefully, she had to take the chance.

_**G G G G G G G G G**_

Lancaeriel was a lovely woman. Taller than Istimiel, she wore her hair in the human fashion up in a bun giving her even greater height. The gleaming yellow strands were smoothed to perfection and she wore a simple green velvet cap over it. She features were common for elves with a slight roundedness that made them motherly and pleasing. Her eyes, gray and blue rimmed, scanned the few words and looked at Istimiel. She pursued her lips slightly.

"That's alright than," she said finally. She went to Istimiel and undid the clasp of her cloak letting the maroon covering drop to the floor revealing the brown dress beneath.

"I see," Lancaeriel mused, "This will never do. I will have one of the girls bring you something more proper."

Istimiel caught her eyes and Lancaeriel explained, "You work for Prince Celebrimbor now and your appearance must represent him. We can't have you dressing like a commoner."

"Certainly," Istimiel murmured. She bite her lip and said, "Madam, may I ask—this position—the Prince."

"I see what you're wondering," Lancaeriel said, "You're wondering if this happens often?"

"Yes," Istimiel was grateful for the woman's shrewdness.

"The best way for you to understand the Prince is that he makes no decisions without a great deal of thought. I have always found his choices to have been made with a great deal of consideration, and in my experience he has yet to be wrong."

Another serving maid arrived and Lancaeriel directed her, "Show Istimiel the dorm for the young women and help her find a uniform. She will be working with you for the next several weeks."

Lancaeriel turned to Istimiel and gave a nod in the direction of the day.

"Welcome to the house of Celebrimbor."

_**G G G G G**_

Gil-Galad paced the gallery, his long legs carrying him back and further as he read over several letters. His long ebony hair was clasped at the base of his neck, a fashion that made him seem younger, more relaxed from his usual control. His doublet was unlaced and his long neck exposed, the skin pale, blue veins tracing the lines of his muscles delicately. He was casually dressed, his usual vestments made unnecessary by the dismissal of court. Such a dismissal was common right before a significant state visit so the castle and state buildings could be cleaned thoroughly and repairs could be made if need be.

It was one of the times that Gil-Galad looked forward to; it was the chance to relax and enjoy the comforts of being king rather than dealing with the burdens of it. He had sent Elrond and Elros by force out to enjoy a hunt with their peers; they were still too young to be kept also in the castle. Elros, nut brown from all the time he spent in the sun, delighted in the forced enjoyment his brother Elrond was pushed to partake of. From what Gil-Galad had understood, Elros was going to bring his twin with him to the humans' settlement that was his pet project.

"Your Highness, Prince Celebrimbor Feanorian."

Gil-Galad glanced sharply up at the page's announcement. He had requested not to be disturbed by anyone. Despite the heritage of Prince Celebrimbor, he never allowed the Smith to override his authority. Some of his distant kinsmen had learned that too late to the determent of many. He was always watchful of any sign of this in his second cousin. Gil-Galad put aside his letters and squared his shoulders in preparation for the coming onslaught of Feanorian temper; Celebrimbor never came to court unless he had a grievance.

The doors opened once more and the imposing figure of Celebrimbor filled it. His black eyes flickered over the room and its inhabitant swiftly before dropping a low, brief bow. His heavy cloak, unusual for the summer heat, swirled around him like a storm cloud. He wore a band of mithril around his brow, the band board and roughly wrought without any device save the scourging of the metal working tools. Resting above the piercing black eyes, the effect was raw and wild; pure Noldor.

"Come in, Prince Celebrimbor," Gil-Galad called out, "It has been a good while since you have visited us."

"I loathe the court," Celebrimbor reminded him, "As they do me. Despite the tales that circulate concerning my family, we do not take perverse delight in antagonizing the rest of the population."

"You do not," Gil-Galad answered him pointedly, "You are silent and absent from court so often that I sometimes wonder why you chose to live in the city. But let us put that aside, what may I do for you?"

Celebrimbor frowned severely the lines digging into his handsome features marring them, "You might put a rumor to rest concerning a visit that is to be paid to the city in the very near future. It involves certain members of the family," he said reminding Gil-Galad of the close relation the two shared, "Who are, perhaps, better left alone."

"Galadriel and Celeborn are welcome in Lindon," the king said flatly.

"But to marry their daughter?" Celebrimbor challenged.

Gil-Galad kept his face perfectly straight at this uncharacteristic outburst from the Feanorian, "It would be perfectly legal, it could help unite the people. You more than anyone else should understand the need for that stability."

"It is not right," Celebrimbor argued, "You would as well turn the throne over to Artanis this moment – as to marrying her daughter—you've never even seen the woman."

"How dare you," Gil-Galad replied in icy tones, "How dare you think to come here and sway my decisions with your own personally prejudices. What we do in our position as king is not the business or concern of a prince."

Celebrimbor flinched at Gil-Galad's choice of words. Although he would never have longed for the crown of the Noldor himself, he could not help but feel the ancient hurt of having lost the chance of the crown to his father's cousins. Maedhros, long dead, had made the correct choice when he surrounded the kingship to Fingolfin thus sealing the fate of infant Ereinion Gil-Galad. The crown belonged to the Feanorians by birthright. Gil-Galad's use of the royal 'we' was on purpose; Celebrimbor reigned himself back.

"If you did not come for any other reason than to challenge our decisions, then we must ask you to leave," Gil-Galad went on his face tight and pale, "We have little enough time for affairs of state that time cannot be wasted on a misplaced humor."

Celebrimbor said nothing. Gil-Galad went to him and placed a hand on his second cousins' shoulder, "We do not wish to be at odds with you. If you are anxious for the visit then come and stay in court during that time. There will be more than a few elves there who will awaken the court's displeasure. If you can suffer the court for a few months--if you wish to be available for councils and discussions."

"You will not take my words for any account," Celebrimbor said, "Why should I do as you wish when in the end it will come to naught?"

"We do not keep you from the court," Gil-Galad reminded him quietly.

Celebrimbor stood still as if thinking, his black eyes fixed on the floor near Gil-Galad's feet. He heaved a sigh and said, "You will marry her, won't you?"

"I may," Gil-Galad answered simply, "If I love her. If she loves me."

Celebrimbor nodded curtly, "Then I shall pray she does not."

He whirled around to leave halting on the threshold to simply say "I shall come to court as you said. Perhaps she if she loves you not—" he let the words hang.

Gil-Galad watched him go with sorrow. As the doors closed behind his cousin, Gil-Galad ground one fist into the other, his teeth grinding together

"Why are you still here?" he demanded when he found her still standing there.

"My lord, I cannot accept this," she said trying to sound brave.

"Why not? Don't you need employment?"

Istimiel nodded, "I do, but I cannot accept a post on these—terms."

"What terms? What's the matter with them?"

"The fact that there are none is what is the matter," she hurried on not meeting his penetrating eyes, "Men of power do not pluck women off the street and give them work without knowing their characters or backgrounds. I could be an assassin for all you know."

He quirked an eyebrow, "Are you?"

"Of course not. But the fact remains that this is an irregular manner of employing a person."

Celebrimbor pushed away from his work bench and came uncomfortably close, the warmth of his body radiating against her. He was very tall and he needed to stoop to catch her eyes. Her pupils contracted as if confronted by a strange light, "Tell me, Istimiel of Lindon, do you want me to know everything of your past?"

Istimiel stared into the challenging eyes and swallowed nervously, "No."

He nodded never breaking eye contact, "I have found through the centuries that it is better never ask someone of the past. These days we all have something we would rather the world forget


End file.
